


Pulp Lines

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-24
Updated: 2007-08-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: After a wedding, people laugh, people drink, people get naked... And by people I mean Harry and Hermione.





	Pulp Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

(Originally written 6/2005)

Here's a silly bit of Hary & Hermione smut, that was sort of inspired by the GoF movie. A note at the end of the story will explain the title and how it fits in with the film, though maybe some of you will figure it out before then. ;)

* * *

 

Hermione quickly lowered her face as she took a gulp of champagne, hoping that no one at the wedding reception would see her expression of mirthful disbelief. Since the end of the Second War, there had been much more openness to Muggle culture within the magical world. While that fact normally made Hermione especially happy, there were a few unfortunate side effects; huge increases in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts violations and rather alarming fashion statements (reminiscent of the Quidditch World Cup) were among the most notable. But this... this Hermione was convinced was the most egregious crime against Muggleness – nay, human decency – she had been witness to in quite a while. For there, on the stage backed by various wizarding musicians, a witch sang a bizarrely operatic version of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” in a warbly falsetto complete with fairies dancing and flashing around her rather rotund form. As the singer – an aunt of the bride, Hermione believed – continued with her strangely dramatic interpretation of the song, the young, brown-haired witch fought the urge explode in laughter, which unfortunately caused her to choke on her champagne.  
  
“Hermione!” an anxious voice exclaimed as a man’s hand began to gently pat her back. “Are you all right? Do you need me to get anything for you?”  
  
She shook her head at the speaker, attempting to gain some control over herself. “No, Terry, I’m fine,” she responded to her concerned boyfriend, wiping her mouth. It was no use even trying to explain to him; not having had much interaction with the Muggle world, Terry Boot would never have understood. She looked up at his handsome face and smiled slightly to show that everything was fine, when she caught sight of her best friend across the table. Harry’s green eyes were sparkling with amusement, and he wasn’t trying all that hard to contain a grin that was threatening to quickly escalate into full-blown laughter.   
  
Just looking at him, knowing that he knew what was so funny – both the song and her reaction to it – caused tiny giggles to spill out of her. His mouth twitched even more at the musical sound, and then they caught each others’ eyes. That did it; the dam was broken and they both gave in to the urge, laughing so hard that tears had to be held back before their laughter finally ran its course. Terry just stared at her and Harry, a baffled look on his face, while Harry’s date (Amber? Ashley? Amanda? Hermione couldn’t really remember) just looked bored.  
  
“Hey, you two. What’s so funny?” Ron’s voice broke in as he threw himself into a chair at their table, with Ginny also joining them.   
  
“Nothing,” both Harry and Hermione responded in unison, their eyes still sparkling as they gave each other one last glance, causing Ginny to roll her eyes good-naturedly at them.   
  
“You two must be happy,” Hermione interjected, trying to get the focus off of her and Harry’s laughing fit, as there was no way that she could explain it without sounding incredibly rude. “The reception is great, and the ceremony was really beautiful.” Hermione gestured to Percy and Penelope who were both laughing with some other wedding guests. “And look at them, they’re practically glowing!”  
  
Both Ginny and Ron smiled. “Yeah,” Ginny responded, her voice starting to thicken with emotion as she gazed on the bride and groom. “It’s good to have everyone together, to celebrate with the people you love.”  
  
“Oh, don’t get all weepy on us, Gin!” Ron burst out. “I don’t know if I can deal with another emotional woman right now,” he jokingly grumbled, making an obvious reference to his own wife, a very pregnant Luna who was currently sitting with Mrs. Weasley at a table across the room.  
  
Ginny grunted, throwing a napkin at her brother’s face. “Prat,” she replied before standing up and grasping his arm. Penny’s aunt had apparently decided to grant the guests a reprieve and the musicians began to play traditional wizarding airs. “Come on, act like a normal person and dance with your only sister at your brother’s wedding.”  
  
Ron groaned before a mischievous gleam entered his eye. He grabbed his sister’s hand and pulled her into a rather ridiculous dance, dragging her all over the dance floor like some sort of rag doll. As Ginny’s laughter carried over to their table, Hermione smiled. Ginny was right, it was good to celebrate. Voldemort may have been defeated over three years earlier, but there still remained much of the bittersweet mood that had settled over the magical world in the aftermath. But it was time to move on... 'In more ways than one,' she thought to herself as her eyes lingered slightly on Harry’s face before turning back to Terry who had taken hold of her hand.  
  
“Well, it looks like Ginny and Ron have the right idea,” Harry’s voice suddenly interrupted before she could follow her last thought into the melancholy that she had worked so hard to avoid. She looked over at him and saw him stand and offer his hand to his date, who accepted it while still looking as bored as she had all night.   
  
“So how about it, Hermione?” Terry asked, rising, still holding her hand. “Ready to risk your feet with me?”  
  
She smiled and easily fell into his arms; Terry was a wonderful dancer, and she felt like she was gliding as he led her around the dance floor. At one point he held her close and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “You look beautiful tonight. I must be the luckiest guy in the world.” A flash of guilt ran through her as she closed her eyes to keep from looking over at Harry.  
  
As she closed her eyes and laid her head against Terry’s chest, Harry gave the slightest sigh of relief. He could finally watch her as much as he wanted, and she would never know – even if it meant that she was snuggled next to Terry Boot. Of course, his date might notice, that is if Ashton noticed much of anything at all. Ashton was just like all the others before her: beautiful but dull. The type of woman who didn’t really interfere much with his life and his friends, and would soon move on to the next man without much in the way of angst or drama.  
  
He knew his friends were all exasperated with his choice of women, but for him it was just the best of a bad situation. After all, since he had no chance of being with whom he truly wanted, what was the point in trying? It was clearly useless, no other woman could ever hope to measure up to her.   
  
And so he consoled himself by staring at her as she danced with that ridiculous boyfriend of hers. Funny, he had liked Terry before they had started dating. But then again, he had liked most of her boyfriends before they were her boyfriends. For Harry, it was a magical formula: dating Hermione Granger turned even the nicest guy – like Terry Boot — into the next incarnation of Voldemort.  
  
His eyes softened as he saw Terry twirl Hermione so that her dress fluttered around her, showing tantalizing glimpses of her toned legs. Harry grimaced. Wasn’t it enough that the prat was smart and successful and nice (if a little boring, in his unbiased opinion)? Did he have to be a good dancer too? The answer came to Harry immediately: of course he did. Hermione only dated such seemingly ideal men. _Witch Weekly_ alone had devoted numerous columns to chronicling the fabulous romances of Miss Hermione Granger, beloved heroine of the war and the prettiest employee the Department of Mysteries had ever seen (though Hermione always laughed that that wasn’t much of a compliment, pointing out that most of her fellow Unspeakables were as old as Dumbledore and only half as cute). Before Terry, there had been that healer who had found a way to treat people like the Longbottoms who suffered from long-term exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. And before him had been the lead prosecutor for the recently established war crimes tribunal. She had even dated Bill Weasley, whom almost anyone would agree was practically perfect. And who could forget Viktor Krum, who _still_ sent her flowers after five years?  
  
And she had broken up with all of them. None of the men had taken it well, for it was obvious to all of Hermione’s friends that they had all fallen hard for her. Even Bill had later admitted to Ron that he had been more than a little in love with the pretty and brilliant young witch, and while they had managed to maintain a close friendship, he had still tried winning her back numerous times to no avail.   
  
How long Harry had been distracted he didn’t know, but was brought back to reality by Ashton shaking his arm, saying that she had to freshen up. Harry nodded, but he didn’t even glance at her as she walked away, he was too busy staring at the graceful line of Hermione’s neck. How could a neck be so sexy? Perhaps because it was so rarely exposed, it was like a hidden treasure. But that night her masses of bushy brown hair had been somewhat tamed into a wild knot at the back of her head.   
  
He felt that painfully familiar tightening in his chest and licked his suddenly dry lips. Before he could talk himself out of it, he walked over and tapped Terry on the shoulder. “Can I cut in?” he asked with a smile. Terry, too unsuspecting to know that he should have punched Harry in the face, smiled and told Hermione he was going to speak with Neville.  
  
Harry just stared into Hermione’s deep brown eyes before she laughingly took his hand. “So, Potter... I hope you don’t think I’m going to let you hurl me around like Ron did to poor Ginny.”  
  
He gave her a slow smile that was so sweet it actually caused her heart to skip. “Don’t worry Hermione,” he reassured her as he gently pulled her against him. “I may not be winning any dance contests, but I haven’t actually damaged a dance partner since Parvati in fourth year.” He sighed as she placed one hand on his shoulder. “But you know we’ve changed so much since then,” he whispered into her ear.  
  
She laid her head against his shoulder and he could feel her smile. “This is nice,” she murmured. “When was the last time we danced together?”  
  
He could have immediately given her an answer, but he doubted that she would feel reassured by the fact that he knew to the exact date the last time he had held her in his arms like this. Instead, he lightly placed his hand against her bared back and lowered his face to her hair, breathing in the scent of her. He wanted to engrave this moment onto his psyche, along with all of the other memories of her that he kept locked away in the most private part of his mind.  
  
Hermione sighed and sank deeper into his embrace. For once, the need to keep her heart safe from rejection was defeated by the overwhelming desire to just _feel_ him: his arms around her, his hands on her back, his breath on her neck. She knew it was temporary, and that soon she would be left with only the ghost of his body against her own. But for that moment, she could just breathe in his scent, feel his heart beating under her cheek and savor the feel of her small frame nestled in his larger one.  
  
Without even realizing what she was doing, she let her hand trail lightly across his shoulder to his neck, the very tips of her delicate fingers skittering across that tiny bit of bared skin above his collar, causing his breath to catch and goose bumps to rise on his arms. He could not control his response, it was instinctual, and so his hands began to lightly caress the silky skin of her bared back.  
  
And just like that, the earlier jokes and casual good humor of their evening was shattered. She could not even try to control the shivers that ran through her as she felt his strong fingers run between her shoulder blades, down the center along her backbone, across that last tantalizing dip of the small of her back. Her own hands stopped moving as her mouth went dry and she closed her eyes. Her head fell to the side, as if she could no longer even keep it upright, exposing her neck to his hungry eyes.  
  
Harry’s hands stopped their teasingly gentle exploration of her back, instead they grasped her closely to him. Hermione could have sworn that his palms were burning their imprint into her very skin.  
  
“Hermione...” a strangled groan was ripped out of him, the sound shaking her out of her lust-induced stupor enough to cause her to slightly step away from him and look into his eyes. She was shocked to see that his green eyes were darkened with desire. “Please, Hermione,” his throaty whisper reached into her body, setting her aflame from the inside out. “Please, don’t tease me like this,” he continued in the same intense voice, as his hands moved onto her shoulders, squeezing them tightly. “You know how I feel... I can’t take it anymore... What do you want from me?” he asked her, the hoarse desperation evident, even in her bewilderment.  
  
“I know how you feel?” she repeated, woodenly, her mind having gone into shock. _What in the world is he talking about? I’m teasing him? He’s torturing me!_   
  
Before he could respond, a discreet cough caused them to snap their heads to the side to find Terry watching them with a forced smile on his face. “If you don’t mind, Harry, I’m going to trouble you for my girlfriend for these last few dances.”  
  
If Harry didn’t notice the slight emphasis Terry had placed on “girlfriend,” Hermione certainly did. She just stood there, looking between the two of them before a frustrated Terry simply took her arm and pulled her away to another part of the dance floor, leaving Harry to just stand there staring after them for a moment before he finally collected his wits and left in search of the bar.  
  
As she stiffly danced in Terry’s arms, she chanced a look up at his face to see an expression of anger mixed with hurt. She slowly let out a quiet sigh. She might have been completely confused by Harry’s behavior, but she could read Terry like a book. A different author, but the story was always the same. Like the others before him, he wanted more than she could give him.  
  
She knew it was wrong of her to hurt these men the way she did, but in her defense, she never _intended_ to do so; she always started a new relationship with hope... the hope that this would be the one to cause her to finally move on.   
  
She closed her eyes as she felt the tears begin to well up behind her lids. She choked back a bitter laugh as she heard Penelope’s aunt belting out a one-of-a-kind rendition of “All You Need is Love.” She forced her eyes open to see Harry tossing back a drink at the bar. A bad cover version of a Beatles song was one thing, she thought as she guiltily glanced back at Terry’s face, but a bad cover version of love? It was so painfully not the real thing; it was just an imitation that got everything all so wrong.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Harry poured another drink and fell into his favorite chair in the study, staring into the empty fireplace as if it could give him some answers. Luckily, he had seen Ashton not too long after Terry had reclaimed Hermione, and so he was able to grab his date, make his excuses and leave before he had to see Hermione in _his_ arms for even one more second.   
  
Finally alone, he could reflect on what exactly had possessed him earlier that night. He tossed back his glass of firewhisky and grimaced. He hadn’t been able to help himself; the smell of her, the feel of her, it had all been too much for him to resist. “Good going, you fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself. “Why not just tell her ‘I want to take you home, I want to give you children’ while you were at it? How about ‘it seems I saw you in every wet dream I’ve had since I was seventeen?’ I really don’t think you freaked her out enough.”  
  
Then he frowned, thinking over her response to his impromptu declaration. She had seemed shocked, yes, but also confused. Confused, as if she didn’t understand what he was saying. It couldn’t be that she really didn’t know that he was completely and utterly in love with her, could it? How could she _not_ know? After all, he could not have been more pathetically obvious after Hogwarts, when she and Ron had come to live with him at Grimmauld Place to help in the training and planning for the war.  
  
He closed his eyes and groaned as he remembered the night, soon after leaving Hogwarts, that had changed everything for him. He had known on some level that Hermione had grown into an attractive young woman, but a part of his mind had always pictured her as that eleven-year-old he had met on the train. So, when he had walked into her room without knocking that night, he was probably more shocked than she had been to see him there.   
  
He got instantly hard as he remembered: Hermione standing in front of a mirror, naked except for a silky robe open at the front, one of her small, perfect hands running between her breasts and the other treading lightly across her belly. His cock grew even harder as he thought about the rosy flush that had covered her skin and the beautiful lines of her body. It was at that moment that he had realized that he wanted her, wanted her so much that it had been painful.  
  
Of course, she had shrieked and he had apologized and she had forgiven him. But from that moment on, he was different. He would stare at her when she was reading, he would get flushed when they sparred with each other during their physical training, he would find the most ridiculous excuses to be around her only to get flustered and flee, and – on a few unfortunate occasions – he had even moaned her name aloud when he was asleep.   
  
When did he realize that it wasn’t just teenage lust and hormone-driven desire, but love? One day, when he was caught up in one of his many daydreams involving her naked and writhing beneath him, he imagined her screaming his name in passion, shouting out that she loved him. And he knew. He wanted to hear her say it for real. Say it when he was driving her to climax and when they were watching their grandchildren play Quidditch. He wanted to be able to protect her and comfort her and make her laugh and drive her mad with passion for the rest of his life. He wanted to say the same words to her.  
  
Of course, Ron had thought that his lovesick mooning was hilarious, and teased him about it mercilessly when they were alone, until Harry finally learned to keep it under control. Ron then figured it had just been some sort of weird phase, and that Harry had just grown out of a crush. But of course, it wasn’t a crush, he hadn’t grown out of it, and Hermione would have _known_ that. After all, she understood him in a way that no one else ever had, right? If _Ron_ had figured it out, _she_ certainly must have known how he felt. But she gave no sign, not even the smallest clue, that she returned his feelings.   
  
In fact, it was not long after he accepted that he was in love with her that she had begun to date Viktor seriously. And Harry had tormented himself by imagining what the two of them would do in her room at night in excruciating and painful detail. A tortuous ritual that he had been unable to stop for the past five years.   
  
And so he started his chain of blondes. And redheads. But never brunettes. Never smart, witty, compassionate brown-haired witches who would only serve as painful reminders for what he didn’t have.  
  
But tonight he had been given a tiny taste of what was denied to him. He could still remember how soft her skin was as he had let his hands roam over her back while dancing, and he could just imagine how silky her skin was everywhere else, how she would feel wrapped around him, how she would taste...   
  
He groaned and unzipped his pants, releasing his swollen cock. He always felt slightly guilty when he did this, wanking as he imagined her, feeling she deserved better than to be used by him like this, but he couldn’t help himself. He saw himself pulling her off of the dance floor into some dark and secluded nook, kissing her, plunging his tongue into her warm, sweet mouth.   
  
He stroked himself as he pictured it: him pushing her against a wall, pulling up the skirt of her dress as she pressed and rubbed her body against his, grinding her hips against his groin, causing him to go crazy with lust. She would moan his name as he pushed down the top of her dress so that he could lick and suck her hardened nipples. She would throw her head back and he could practically hear her voice, throaty with desire, begging him to fuck her, fuck her fast and hard. He would rip her wet knickers off, rubbing her clit and feeling her juices around his fingers. He would make her scream his name, loud enough for everyone at the party to hear how she was having the greatest sex of her life, that he was turning her into a writhing, primal animal, clawing at him in her desire to have him inside of her.   
  
He stroked himself harder and faster, but it wasn’t his hand, it was her hot, wet cunt he was thrusting into as she wrapped her legs around him, groaning in his ear, whispering all the dirty things she wanted him to do to her. And then she would come hard, convulsing around him, milking his cock as she screamed that she loved him over and over again as he would pound her against the wall, burying himself into her slick heat. “Hermione!” he shouted as he came, his seed spurting onto him as his body shook from his orgasm.  
  
After his body had finally calmed and he had muttered a cleansing charm, he pulled himself out of his chair and grabbed the entire bottle of firewhisky, staggering to his bed and to – hopefully, for at least one night – oblivion.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Ron shook his head as he looked over at his best friend. Harry looked like shit and was cranky as hell. Ron normally looked forward to Sunday afternoons when he, Harry, some old friends from Hogwarts and a few others from the Ministry would meet at his and Luna’s house in Ottery St. Catchpole for Quidditch. But today, he wasn’t sure why Harry had even bothered to turn up. He certainly wasn’t being very social and had sat out for most of the games, evidently preferring to instead brood into the early evening.  
  
Oh well, Ron thought as he plopped himself down on the grass next to Harry, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “So, mate... What crawled up your arse?” he asked, rather proud of how much his sensitivity had developed over the years.  
  
Harry just glared at him before ripping the gloves off his hands. “Nothing’s wrong, you tosser,” he barked, chucking the gloves to the ground. “Everything’s great, just great. Life’s fucking great.”  
  
“Okay,” Ron drawled out as he rolled his eyes. “Is there something in the water or something? First Hermione, now you...”  
  
“What about Hermione?” Harry asked, practically pouncing onto Ron’s unfinished sentence, showing more life than he had all afternoon.  
  
“Easy, Harry,” Ron responded, his eyes narrowing. “Just that I had to Floo her this morning – about some Ministry stuff – and she practically bit my head off, charming girl that she is,” he finished with a classic Ron snort. “I heard her talking to Luna afterwards, and she told Luna that she had broken things off with Terry.” Ron shook his head with some real sympathy; would his best friends never get lucky in love the way he had?  
  
“They broke up?” Harry asked, his voice quiet but intense.  
  
“Well, it sounded like maybe _he_ dumped _her_ ,” he said, in a hesitating tone of voice. “I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but I think it happened after the reception.”  
  
“WHAT?” Harry shouted. “How could you not tell me earlier, Ron?”  
  
“Shit, Harry, do you mind?” Ron retorted, rubbing his ear with an exaggerated wince. “And don’t get so worked up, Hermione’s a big girl and knows how to take care of herself. Though,” he paused, looking thoughtful, “this _is_ the first time since school that a bloke ended things with her. Normally it’s the other way round.”  
  
Ron frowned, perhaps remembering how moody Bill was when Hermione had called off their relationship, but Harry didn’t notice. All he could think of was her. _Was she depressed? Angry? Hurt? What if she was alone in her flat right now, crying? Had Terry Boot made her cry? Didn’t he know that Harry would kill him if he hurt Hermione in any way? Did he have a death wish?_  
  
“Uh, Harry? You there?” Ron’s voice finally broke through Harry’s simmering anger, and Harry noticed his friend waving a hand in front of his glasses.  
  
Harry didn’t allow himself to think himself out of his decision. Granted, it was a strategy that didn’t really seem to work for him the previous night, but it was almost like he couldn’t really control himself; he had to see her. He jumped up on his feet and threw his stuff into his bag. “Sorry, Ron, but I’ve got to go.”  
  
And without any further explanation, he Apparated with a crack, leaving Ron’s mouth gaping.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Hermione lay back in the bathtub, her hair in a damp knot, eating the last bit of Florean Fortescue’s Chocolate Minifrogs Chunk ice cream right out of the container. She didn’t often indulge herself like that, but she had decided that after such an overwhelming night and day, she definitely deserved it.  
  
She was still a little bewildered by how quickly her and Terry’s relationship had ended. Considering that she wasn’t _that_ upset by it, Hermione supposed that it was probably for the best. It was better to end things earlier rather then wait till things got really messy. She couldn’t really fault Terry for using the same philosophy that she herself had followed since Hogwarts.  
  
Though if she were really being honest with herself, she would have been forced to admit that she was actually upset about not caring more. She _should_ have been a mess; after all, Terry was perfect boyfriend material: handsome, smart, thoughtful, successful and not too shabby in bed, either. 'But does it really matter what he is?' she thought ruefully, 'Or do you really only care about who he isn’t?'  
  
She hated thinking about it, but she couldn’t avoid the direction her train of thought was leading her. All her relationships ended for the same reason. She couldn’t open herself up to any man fully. If her past lovers were also feeling honest, they would have admitted that they had known on some level what they had been getting into, but each had hoped that he would be the one to finally break through to her heart. But that was an impossible task; she couldn’t give her heart away, because it had already been taken.  
  
She frowned as she remembered what Harry had said to her the previous night. _Please, don’t tease me like this... You know how I feel... What do you want from me?_ She still wasn’t sure what to make of it. He had acted like he wanted her, that he felt something more than friendship for her, but was that really possible? Or was it simply wishful thinking on her part?  
  
She let out a long groan in frustration as she set the now empty container aside. Of course it was her imagination – he had made it perfectly clear to her that he didn’t see her as anything but a friend since that horrible night five years earlier when he had walked in on her. She still cringed as she remembered how he had acted around her after he had seen her practically naked; she had never seen anyone so uncomfortable and embarrassed. Good lord, he would practically bolt out of a room whenever they were alone together.  
  
Needless to say, her ego had been totally bruised by the experience. She might not have been the type of girl who was obsessed with her appearance, but she had always felt confident that she was attractive in her own way; she had certainly never thought that she was so hideous that the sight of her would turn her best friend into a flushing, jumpy mess. And so, Viktor’s sudden reappearance back into her life had been a welcome distraction.  
  
Of course, it hadn’t lasted. True, he had made her feel desirable, and had been a wonderful first lover; but for her, there had been something missing. She knew that she wasn’t in love with Viktor, but what she hadn’t counted on was that she was already in love... with Harry.  
  
She could recall that moment of truth with perfect clarity. It was the traditional Christmas party at Grimmauld Place, and Hermione had been standing silently, gazing into the fire as she reflected on all they had already been through, and how much Harry still had ahead of him, when she felt his presence next to her. She had looked up at him, all her concern for him clear in her eyes, and he had given her that sad, sweet smile that she both loved and hated. And then he had lifted his hand, pushed a wild lock of her hair back behind her ear and kissed her cheek before squeezing her hand. And then he left her with that same smile, going to speak with Remus.  
  
And then, she had known. Her devotion to him was not simply the loyalty to a friend, or even loyalty to a cause. It may have begun that way, but now she knew that it was all for him. She loved him, which was why his earlier behavior had stung her so deeply. That night, she had cried herself to sleep, trying to decide what to do. The next morning, she broke up with Viktor, knowing that she couldn’t risk using him. She also decided that no matter what, Harry would always be able to count on her friendship and loyalty, no matter how much it may pain her.  
  
She groaned as sank deeper into the hot water. Who would have known that five years later, she would still be as much in love with him as ever? And that her desire for him would actually increase, rather than dampen? As she thought back to how his hands had felt on her the previous night, she couldn’t contain the shiver that ran down her back, despite the steaming water. Of almost their own volition, her hands began to skim along her body, one hand running along her neck and chest as the other began to dip down between her legs. She imagined his hands – those large, strong, capable hands – touching her, and as she sighed and closed her eyes she could picture his bright green gaze.  
  
Before she could delve further into her fantasy, she heard a distinctive crack coming from her sitting room. Flushed and trying desperately to calm herself, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her as she left the bathroom. Besides herself, only Ron and Harry could Apparate directly into her home, so she had no reason to worry about her safety, but she couldn’t stop the butterflies from turning her stomach upside down as she walked into the room.  
  
His back was to her, and she took advantage of that moment to try and compose herself, but it was useless. He turned to face her, and as he stared at her she could feel her chest tightening and her hand went to grip the towel tighter around herself. She stared back, losing herself in his eyes as she felt the arousal that always exploded inside of her at his nearness.  
  
'Get yourself under control!' her mind shouted at her, trying to get her to leave the room, put some clothes on, and put a little distance between them before she did something utterly desperate and foolish. 'Come on, Hermione!' her mind continued to warn her. 'He’s had _years_ to say something, to do anything, if he had feelings for you. Don’t make a fool of yourself now.' But that voice became smaller and smaller as he began to slowly walk towards her, his eyes never leaving her own. She was lost to her desire for him, and she knew it. _I can’t stop it now, there’s no way to get out... he’s standing far too near... Dear god, I love him. This may be my only chance..._  
  
She had bewitched him, of that he was sure. He hadn’t really had time to think about how she would react to him coming unexpectedly to her home like this, but never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined her like this... Her skin, dewy and flushed; her hair with damp ringlets trailing down from its knot to stick to her neck; her beautiful body just barely covered by the white towel that she had clutched around her.  
  
He hadn’t even been aware that he had moved, but here he was, staring into her deep brown eyes as he stood before her. _Could she sense it? How much he wanted her?_ “Hermione,” he whispered, the throaty timbre of his voice causing her to shudder, and he just barely heard her soft gasp. He smiled, a slow smile that only hinted at how excited he was by her reaction to him.   
  
“Harry?” she asked, her voice soft and as questioning as her eyes. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he answered, his voice low, lest he destroy the spell of desire that he could feel was weaving itself into the very air around them. He lifted his hands to touch her face, watching her eyelids flutter closed as he lightly ran his fingers over her cheeks. One of his hands ran down to her neck, that beautiful, delicate column that he longed to mark with his lips. His heart was beating so fast, he wondered briefly how he was still alive. But as he touched her shoulder, his palm caressing the delicate play of skin and muscle, all such thoughts fled him, for at that moment, that room became the centre of his entire universe.  
  
She forced herself to open her eyes and hear what he was saying to her. “All right?” she whispered the question, repeating his words, even as her body was telling her to shut the hell up and let it have what it so desperately wanted. “Oh, you must mean about Terry,” she finished, understanding finally breaking through the cloud of lust that had settled into every cell of her body. “It was nothing,” she continued, closing her eyes again as she melted into his hands that were still working their magic on her skin. “He’s a great guy, but I guess it just wasn’t _there_ , it just wasn’t...”  
  
“Right?” Harry asked. She opened her eyes and looked at him, nodding slowly. “What was missing?” he asked, his heart in his eyes, his body filled with hope.  
  
Hermione froze, her mind at war with itself. There was no mistaking it this time, he _wanted_ her, as much as she wanted him. 'Tell him!' her heart screamed at her. _Just remember that this is what you wanted last night. So why is it so hard for you to touch him? To tell him the truth?_  
  
And so she called up every ounce of that legendary Gryffindor courage and took a deep breath. “The same thing that was missing from all the others,” she whispered, placing one of her hands against his chest. “He wasn’t you.”  
  
The words were out of her mouth, and before she had a chance to regret them, his lips were on hers, his arms wrapped around her, crushing her against him with an intensity that she had only dreamed about. His kiss was more powerful than any potion could possibly be and she opened her mouth under his, inviting his tongue to plunge in, causing her to moan as he tasted her deeply.  
  
“God, Hermione,” he muttered as he began to rain kisses down her jaw, suckling and kissing and nipping the skin down her neck. “I’ve waited so bloody long for you, I was scared it would never happen,” he continued feverishly, the words coming out of his mouth in a delirium of lust and possessiveness as Hermione could only throw her head back, her senses attacked by his hunger. “But it _had_ to happen, it was _meant_ to happen.” He tore his lips from her neck and forced her to look at him. “You were meant for me,” he growled before he once again covered her mouth with his own, deliciously bruising her lips with his fierceness.  
  
She didn’t have time to think about what he had said about waiting for her. She had barely tightened her grasp around his neck before he pulled her up onto him and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. Never pausing in his ravishment of her mouth, he carried her into her darkened bedroom, finally positioning her under him on her bed. He pulled her towel away from between them and heard her hiss and moan as he ran his hands over the sides of her breasts and stomach. He pulled away from her and kneeled on the bed between her legs as he took out his wand. “I want to see as well as hear,” he growled as he muttered a charm and soft light sprung up from around the room.  
  
As he looked down at her, her chest heaving and her body spread open like a gift before him, he almost thought that his heart would stop. She was so fucking beautiful. His eyes traced over her slim, golden body and his hands followed, reverently, every touch a prayer to her perfection. His hands practically trembled as he ran his fingertips and palms over the silky skin of her breasts, thighs, belly; he watched in amazed fascination as she quivered under his touch. When he looked back into her eyes, he was not surprised to find tears in his own. “Hermione,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion, “I love you.”  
  
And then she smiled, a brilliant, beautiful smile that lit her entire face. “Oh, Harry,” she started as she lifted a hand to touch his lips. “Don’t you know already? I love you. It’s always been you.”   
  
He saw the truth of her words in her eyes and it felt like his chest was going to burst from the amount of pure joy that was concentrated in his heart. He covered her body with his and kissed her again, just as passionately as before, but also filled with all the love that he possessed for this amazing woman who had been the center of his life for so long.  
  
Hermione felt the emotion through his kiss and felt like she was falling and floating all at the same time. She pulled his face away from hers and laughed out of sheer happiness. He smiled back at her and couldn’t help but laugh as she kissed his forehead, nose, cheeks and lips, murmuring an “I love you” between each kiss.  
  
She grinned against his lips and rolled them over so that she was sitting up, straddling him. Harry gave her a sexy smirk as he ran his hands over her hips. “I should have known that you would want to take charge, you bossy witch!”  
  
She returned his grin as she pulled his glasses off and set them aside. “Hmmm, maybe not bossy enough,” she replied with a wink. “Here I am, on top of you, and I can’t believe that it took me this long.” Harry couldn’t respond, for she began to run her hands over his chest. “But, considering how long I've been waiting,” she continued with a slight pout, “I think that maybe we could speed things up a little.”  
  
He just blinked at her, before he finally realized that she was sitting on him in all her naked glory and he was still completely clothed. As sexy as a picture as that was, he realized that he wanted nothing more than to feel her skin against his own. With a sudden move, he jumped up from the bed, causing her to tumble off, as he tried to set a record for stripping his clothes off.  
  
Hermione erupted in giggles at his haste. “Well, now that’s really hot,” she laughed as he tried to kick his pants off over his shoes. At his mock glare she laughed even harder before he finally got all his clothes off and pounced on her, getting his revenge as he tickled her mercilessly.  
  
“Still feel like laughing?” he growled as she practically cried, she was laughing so hard.   
  
“Stop! Please, Harry!” she was practically squealing. “You _are_ hot!” she gasped. “I swear it!”  
  
“Am I sexy?” he asked, working to keep the laughter out of his own voice.  
  
“Dead sexy!” she shouted, her lithe body writhing under his larger, muscled frame.   
  
He stopped tickling her, closing his eyes and groaning at how good she felt beneath him. He opened his eyes when he felt her hands running up and down his back, and the sheer level of desire he saw in her eyes was too much for him to take. He kissed her with abandon, with a wildness that she returned as she pulled him even closer to her. “I’ll crush you,” he murmured, trying to lift off of her a bit.  
  
“No, you won’t,” she whispered against his neck as she licked and suckled the skin there, causing him to moan loudly. “I love feeling you against me, like this,” she continued, in that same breathy voice that was driving him mad, just as she practically wrapped her legs around him, running her feet along the back of his legs. “But,” she paused as she looked into his green gaze, “I’d rather feel you inside me,” she finished as she put her hands in between their bodies to grasp onto his erection.  
  
Harry’s eyes practically rolled back as he groaned loudly at the reality of her touching him, stroking him. It was so much more than he had ever fantasized about, and he had to pull her hands away. “I won’t last with you doing that to me,” he was finally able to say, before kissing her hard and deep. “I’d rather be inside you, too.”   
  
He still wanted to taste her, tease her, mark every part of her, but she was right, neither of them could wait any longer. There would be time later for them to explore every inch of each other’s bodies, but at that moment they needed completion. He reached his hand between them to feel her, and groaned as he felt how wet she was, his fingers easily slipping inside her as she moaned loudly, thrusting her hips against his hand.   
  
Hermione was going mad, she was sure of it. “Now, Harry!” she gasped. “I need you now!” She pushed him so that he was on his back and she straddled his hips, and with a haste born from desperate lust, quickly sheathed his cock inside of her.  
  
“Fuck!” she heard Harry hiss as she closed her eyes and shuddered at the amazing feeling of him inside of her. She had to place her hands against his chest simply to stay up, she felt so out of control. “Dear God, Hermione!” Harry rasped as he clutched her hips in place, his eyes shut tightly. “Don’t move!” he muttered before finally opening his eyes to stare at where their bodies were joined. “You could warn a man before doing that, you know,” he continued, with a hint of a grin playing on his swollen lips.  
  
Hermione couldn’t help but smirk back. “Sorry,” she replied, not sounding sincere at all. After a moment, the urge to move became too great for her. “Now?” she asked, the need evident in her voice.  
  
He just nodded, letting his hands wander over her thighs, hips and breasts as she began to slowly move on top of him. She made slow, shallow movements at first as she stared into his eyes, feeling his hands roaming over her skin. As the tension began to build in her, she moved faster and harder against him as he grasped onto her hips, using them as leverage as he thrust up into her.  
  
“So good... God, you feel so good... I knew it would be... Even better than I dreamed...” Harry was muttering and moaning as she began to ride him in earnest, never breaking the eye contact they had, their lust and pleasure building as they could see it reflected in each other’s gaze. The tension was rising in her body and she knew she was close to falling over the edge when she felt Harry’s fingers move to her clit, stroking and rubbing it in concert with her hips slamming against his own. “I want to see you come,” he groaned in that hoarse voice of lust that she knew that she would never tire of hearing. “I want you to scream my name,” he continued, stroking her harder. “Let me feel you come around me.”  
  
Hermione screamed as she felt her climax hit her, harder than she had ever come before in her life. She fell forward, her hands braced against his shoulders as she began to shake. “Harry!” she wailed over and over as her eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation.   
  
“I love you, Harry, God yes, I love you, Harry, never stop!” she screamed again and again, her words further stoking the fire within him. He had never seen anything as amazing as the sight of Hermione in the throes of her climax. As often as he had imagined her, the fantasies paled against the reality of her surrounding him, her wet warmth convulsing around him, her body begging him to release into her. He had been a fool to wait so long for this, and he knew that he would never be able to deny himself again, now that he had experienced the heaven her body could provide him. Before she had even fully come down from the high that he had brought her to, he flipped them over so that she was beneath him, and covered her mouth with his, devouring her with his breath and tongue as he began to thrust, long, hard and deep into her.  
  
He couldn’t stop tasting her, his mouth ranging over her throat, jaw, shoulders and breasts as she panted and moaned beneath him. “Mine, you’re finally mine,” he muttered again and again as he thrust and tasted and he thought his mind was going to explode before his body would, she was so fucking amazing.  
  
“Yes, Harry, I’m yours,” Hermione groaned, arching her body beneath him, running her hands over his back, wrapping her legs around him. She couldn’t believe that she was going to come again so soon, but her body was on fire for him. All the lovers she had had before were like pale imitations of this moment; she had never felt so alive and at the same time she was afraid that the sheer pleasure she was feeling was about to kill her. “Mark me, Harry,” she panted as she clenched her muscles around him, causing him to groan in agonized pleasure, “Come inside me,” she moaned, with the last coherent thought she had, “Make me yours... forever.”  
  
She had stolen his mind, that was the only explanation Harry would be able to offer as her words destroyed what miniscule semblance of control he had left. He pulled one of her legs off his hip and pushed it up and to the side, opening her up further for him and he began to thrust even deeper into her. The screams of pleasure erupting from her throat were fuel for the fire within him as he buried himself inside her. She screamed his name again and again as he pounded into her hot wetness until she finally convulsed around him, causing him to finally give in to the overwhelming need to erupt inside of her. He shouted her name and his love for her in a strangled gasp as he rode out his climax, still thrusting into her as her body greedily drew every drop of his orgasm out of him, until he was left panting and exhausted on top of her; her arms still wrapped around him as she left kisses along his forehead.  
  
He finally regained enough presence of mind to lift off of her, smiling at the sigh of disappointment she made. He lay on his back and pulled her to him, completely entangling her smaller frame with his larger limbs. He couldn’t stop smiling as she placed lazy kisses across his chest, and he tightened his hold around her. “So,” her breathy voice broke in between her kisses, “was it what you thought it would be?”   
  
Harry laughed and he could feel her grin against his chest. “Are you kidding? I’m thinking of starting a new religion and naming it after you.”  
  
She giggled. “Well, as long as you’re the only member, and the rites consist of reenactments of what we just did, I don’t think I’ll have any arguments against it,” she replied with a cheeky smirk. A comfortable silence built around them as they held each other before she pulled herself on top of him so that she could look at his face, as content and satisfied as she knew her own must have looked to him.  
  
He smiled softly as he gently brushed her hair away from her face. “I was such a fool to wait so long,” he whispered.  
  
“Not only you,” she gently replied. “I think maybe we were both scared, had built up reasons against it,” she said and then kissed him sweetly, her lips brushing against his own. “Funny how it all falls away,” she murmured as she swept her lips along his jaw line. “When did you first realize?” she asked as she moved down his throat.  
  
Harry chuckled as he pulled his embrace tighter around her, loving the feeling of her finally in his arms. “ I think you’ve always been the one for me. But I guess it really started that night when I walked in on you...”  
  
“What?” she asked, startled as she suddenly stopped her kisses and looked at his face.   
  
Harry looked at her, his face puzzled by her reaction. “Yeah, how could I not? I mean, have you seen yourself naked? It’s pretty bloody amazing.”  
  
She just stared at him for a second before a tiny blush appeared on her cheeks. “It’s nothing... It’s just... I thought... Well... I guess we have a lot to talk about,” she finally finished with a smile.  
  
He smiled back and cupped her face with his hands and drew her in for a soft, lingering kiss that left them both breathless. “Later,” he said, arranging her against him and pulling the blankets around them before he muttered the charm to put out the lights.  
  
“Later,” she agreed with another kiss, and they settled down to sleep with contented smiles on their lips.

* * *

 

Hmm, the title? It’s because this was inspired when I found out that Jarvis Cocker – front man for Pulp – was going to be in the GOF film in a cameo as a member of the Weird Sisters.  
  
So... I kind of challenged myself to write a fic inspired by some lines from some great Pulp songs. How could I not? Is there anyone with a sexier voice than Jarvis Cocker? Anyways, here are the lines I used (though not all word-for-word). It might be fun if someone else tried doing the same thing with Radiohead lines, since Jonny Greenwood and Phil Selway are also going to be doing cameos. Hope you enjoyed it!  
  
  
“But you know we’ve changed so much since then” – Do You Remember the First Time?  
“A bad cover version of love is not the real thing...sing your song about all the sad imitations that got it so wrong” – Bad Cover Version  
“I want to take you home I want to give you children” – Babies   
“It seems I saw you in some teenage wet dream” – This is Hardcore  
“Oh Jesus. I couldn’t stop it now. There’s no way to get out. He’s standing far too near” – Underwear  
“And as I touch your shoulder tonight this room has become the centre of the entire universe” – F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E.  
“Just remember that this is what you wanted last night. So why is it so hard for you to touch him?” – Underwear  
“I want to see as well as hear” – Babies  
“This is me on top of you and I can’t believe that it took me this long” – This is Hardcore  
“Funny how it all falls away. When did you first realize?” – Help the Aged  
 


End file.
